


Leave This Blue Neighborhood

by intemperans



Series: #FFXIVWrite2020 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: #FFXIVWrite, #FFXIVWrite2020, Blood, Dark Knight Questline (Final Fantasy XIV), Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ear Piercings, Family Drama, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intemperans/pseuds/intemperans
Summary: He’s going to tell them.Halone knows he wants to, needs to, the words ‘Lord Haurchefant kissed me and I didn’t dislike it’ have come to his lips more times than he can count, but...No matter how many times he tries he can’t seem to get himself to give voice to his thoughts.----------Or, a series following the adventures of Vallerin Chaunollet, Warrior of Light.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel & Haurchefant Greystone, Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Fray Myste & Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light - Relationship, Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters, estinien - Relationship
Series: #FFXIVWrite2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907875
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	1. Leave My Demons & Broken Pieces Behind

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't sat down and written anything in two years, so I figured I'd give this a shot. 
> 
> No beta I die like a man.
> 
> Day 001: Crux.
> 
> Crux - (noun)  
> the decisive or most important point at issue.

He’s going to tell them.  
  
Halone knows he wants to, _needs to_ , the words ‘Lord Haurchefant kissed me and I didn’t dislike it’ have come to his lips more times than he can count, but...  
  
No matter how many times he tries he can’t seem to get himself to give voice to his thoughts.

 _They’ll disown you, Vallerin_ the voice inside his head repeats, as steadily as the beating of his heart in his chest, and he knows it’s right. They would. Better no son at all than a disgrace to Ishgard, to the Chaunollet name. He’s asked Halone for guidance, of course he has, but She remains silent, stubborn as ever. Perhaps She’s busy with all the other prayers She receives.  
  
_Or perhaps She sees the inside of your heart, and is just as ashamed of you as you are of yourself.  
  
_The voice again, on an endless loop, and he knows it’s the dread that’s been creeping deep within his stomach, settling in and making itself a home inside of him ever since Haurchefant’s lips left his own.  
  
In retrospect, thinking back on his teenage years, he realizes that the fact that he _didn’t_ push Haurchefant away the moment the older man began to lean in, eyelids slipping shut, should come as no surprise. Of course he’d had his share of female callers, but never found himself wanting anything more than friendship from any of them, even if it was readily (and sometimes, rather _forwardly_ ) offered to him. Haurchefant, however…  
  
The soft grey-blue of his eyes, the determination in his jaw when he announced to his own family that he was going to become a _knight_ , his bastard-born surname be damned. It had brought warmth to his own cheeks, had it not? A surge of pride that the man he’d watched his childhood friend grow up to be had lost none of his spark, his determination. In truth, it really had only seemed to grow as he got older.  
Of _course_ he didn’t dislike the fact that Haurchefant wanted him, wanted to kiss him softly, wanted to hold him close to his own chest. Now that he looks back on his life as a whole, he isn’t surprised at all.  
  
One sigh. Two clenched fists. Three hastily written goodbye letters.  
  
The colds of Ishgard have never cut him so deeply, never sank into his bones the way they do as he quickly packs a bag containing everything he couldn’t handle leaving behind. He sneaks out of his family home as quietly as he possibly can, long legs crossing the stones until he finds himself in The Forgotten Knight, still half-full even at this late hour.  
  
Gil on the bar, the letters following soon after.  
  
“This one to the Chaunollet family home,” he insists, his voice taking on a sense of urgency that he didn’t know he had within him, “this one to Ser Aymeric de Borel.”  
  
He is many, many things, but a _deserter_ is not one of them, he tells himself, even with the bag of his belongings across his back.  
  
“And the third, ser?”  
  
“I’m no knight.” The denial is quick, practiced, automatic after so many people referring to him as _ser_ over the years.  
  
“Mine apologies, but still, the third?”  
  
There are tears in Vallerin Chaunollet’s eyes and a crack in his voice when he speaks again, a deep breath meant to steady himself doing nothing it was intended to.  
  
“Lord Haurchefant Greystone...” he trails off, the urge to snatch the letters back and go home almost overwhelming him, “M-make sure that one, and that one _exactly_ gets to Haurchefant. Please.”


	2. Conflicted, Contradictive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2. 
> 
> Sway (verb) - move or cause to move slowly or rhythmically backward and forward or from side to side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two of #FFxivWrite2020

He tells himself he doesn’t _have_ to go.

Even as he stands at the Atheryte Plaza, his hair tickling his neck in the light breeze as he looks out toward the Steps of Faith, towards Eorzea, towards _freedom._

Freedom to be whoever he wanted to be, freedom to love whoever he wanted to love, regardless of whether they were referred to as _Ser_ or not.

There’s a part of him, though…

As the only son of House Chaunollet, he’d been born and bred to do his duty. Serve Ishgard, serve his House, sire children, carry on the family name. Of course he had to go and _ruin_ all of that, ruin everyone’s hopes and dreams, everyone’s expectations for him, by wanting to kiss Lord Haurchefant Greystone just as badly as it seemed Haurchefant wanted to kiss _him.  
  
_You don’t _have_ to go, he tells himself again, and it’s not even a fully formed thought before he knows it’s yet another lie he’s told himself.  
  
Movement on the walls, high above the steps of faith. Familiar armor, _identifying_ armor, lance in hand, and, even from this distance, an angry red glow.  
  
If the Azure Dragoon could run, why couldn’t he? He certainly wasn’t in a higher position than Estinien, so why not?

_Set your jaw, just as Haurchefant would, and walk right out the gates, cross the Steps of Faith, leave Ishgard behind. It’s doomed anyway, was from the start, you know it, you’ve always known it._

A nod to no one in particular, the feeling of the bag scooting farther up his back as he squares his shoulders and begins to walk.  
  
“Will you be crossin The Steps, lad?”  
  
His cheeks burn as he smiles, wider than he has in a long time without Haurchefant by his side.  
  
“I will be, ser. Thank you.”

  
  
\-----------------

Ul Dah is about as far from Ishgard as one could go, he reasons, idly twirling his new sword in his hand, listening to the noise of the people, the taps of his boots as he crosses the stones, so similar to Ishgard’s own, and yet, so, so different. There’s no snow, no sense of panic that seems itself to be sentient, constant worry and fear that the next shadow from above will be the Horde finally coming to take them all, a quick trip to Halone’s halls for all of them.  
  
No, here there’s just...noise. And heat. An almost unbearable heat that to anyone else would be stifling, suffocating, but to him feels comforting, welcoming, like a warm blanket and a fire at the end of yet another snowy Ishgard day.  
  
Better, even.  
  
A quick glance at the map he’s hardly taken his eyes off of since arriving, a small nod to himself confirming he’s going the right way.  
  
“Another new adventurer? Your kind sure seems to grow in number every day around here, it seems. Ah, well. What can I get you? Work? If you want a room, that isn’t exactly my position here, that’s what I’ve got Otopa for.”  
  
“A-ah no, actually, I’m fine on the room, thanks,” he has to look _down_ at the woman, Momodi, he reminds himself. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Lalafells.  
  
“Then what is it that you’ll be needin’, then…I’m sorry, I just realized I didn’t get your name.” Momodi shakes her head at herself, and he’s struck with the sudden urge to comfort her.  
  
“No apologies needed, my lady. You haven’t offended me in the slightest. My name is...”  
  
_Vallerin. Vallerin Chaunollet, and I’m not supposed to_ be here, _I’m supposed to be at home in Ishgard with my family wondering if it’s going to be the cold that kills me or a dragon.  
  
_“Val. Val Greystone.”  
  
It’s out before he can stop it, and he knows, as surely and suddenly as he knows he’s made the right choice by leaving his family and everything that he’s ever known behind, that in another time, another place, another life…

He’d have taken his name for his own, so he might as well allow himself one small indulgence now. There’s only one thing he even cares to remember about his time in Ishgard, his _old life_ , and it’s the man who wears that surname like a badge of honor.  
  
He only hopes that he’s able to do the same here, in this strange place so far from home.


	3. The Nerve to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 003: Muster
> 
> Muster (noun) - collect or assemble (a number or amount)

Tired.

It’s the simple way to describe how he’s feeling, although if one were to ask Lucia, she’d say _exhausted_ was nearer the mark. He knows this because he’s heard her whispering to some of the other Temple Knights, on the evenings when he’s spent hours upon hours locked in the Knight’s Commander’s Office, discussing war tactics and their potential impending demise with Estinien.

He is Ser Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, and for once in his life, he planned to make an early night of it, get some rest for once, the constant worry and fear gnawing at his heart be damned.

Or, he had, at least, until Lucia’s voice shook him from his thoughts, worry clear in every word, and something Aymeric assumed was fear pitching her voice higher than he was used to.  
  
“Lord Commander, my apologies,” she began, the same as she always did, apologizing even if there was nothing to apologize for, “but Lord Haurchefant is waiting below, and desires an audience with you. It doesn’t appear like he’s going to take no for an answer.”  
  
Aymeric had been waiting for this. He knew Haurchefant would show up eventually, he had just hoped it would be _after_ he’d gotten some sleep.  
  
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my dear Lucia. As a matter of fact, I knew Lord Haurchefant would show up sooner or later, I was a fool to think it might be later. Send him in.”

Aymeric glances at the letter open on his desk, read over and over to the point that the folds in the paper had become smoothed out and almost invisible. Of course Haurchefant would show up, Vallerin deciding to leave in the middle of the night affected him, didn’t it? House Chaunollet had served House Fortemps for decades, after all, and it was no surprise that the two sons were close, as they were around the same age. This would most likely be a visit to discuss what sort of damage control would need to be done with Vallerin’s absence, a similar conversation he himself had to have every time Estinien disappeared off to Halone knows where.  
  
The door to his office opens, and he automatically stands up, plastering a smile on his face that he can tell doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  
  
“Lord Haurchefant, it’s been too long. I do hope I find you we--...”  
  
The words die in his throat the moment he looks at the younger man.  
  
“Don’t bother with the usual formalities or pleasantries, Aymeric, I won’t be staying long.”  
  
Haurchefant’s eyes are far away, red-rimmed and swollen from what Aymeric assumes is crying. That in itself is shocking. He’s never known Haurchefant of the Silver Fuller to cry.  
  
“As you wish. I take it this concerns the absence of our young friend Vallerin Chaunollet?”  
  
Haurchefant’s eyes widen as he stares at Aymeric, “You know?”  
  
“Of course I know. I’m his commander. He left me a lett-”  
  
“Let me see it.” It isn’t a request, it isn’t even _close_ to being one, and despite how rude and snappy Haurchefant comes off when he says it, Aymeric finds himself unable to be upset about it, given the state of him.  
  
“I can do you one better than that, my friend, if you’d allow me to. I can read it to you myself, if it please you. I certainly feel like that would be the better option, it _does_ look like those eyes of yours could use a rest.”  
  
It’s unspoken, of course, but the immediate change in Haurchefant’s expression lets him know his message got across. _You’re breaking, or are already broken, and I don’t know why, but I’ll be damned if I let you fall apart all by yourself.  
  
_Haurchefant nods as he sinks down into the chair on the other side of Aymeric’s desk, a sigh so heavy leaving the man that there’s a split second urge coursing through Aymeric’s being to go to him and give him a hug. It’s just the two of them in the office, after all, and Aymeric is almost certain that no one, save for Lucia and himself, have seen Haurchefant in his current state.  
  
Instead he picks up Vallerin’s letter, clears his throat, and begins to read aloud.  
  
“ _To Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, Ser Aymeric de Borel. I will dispense with the formalities from this point onward, as there is no way to truly ease the blow which I am about to deal you. I have done something, something that would dishonor both my House, and the House my family has served nigh on generations, House Fortemps. It is nothing so disastrous as heresy, but it is something that could not only alter how_ my _House is viewed, but the noble House Fortemps is viewed as well. I will not allow myself or my actions to sully the good name of either House, and it is with a heavy heart that I have to inform you that I will be leaving Ishgard, in fact, will be gone by the time you receive this letter. My family has also received a letter, as well as Lord Haurchefant Greystone, who, as you know, is one of my oldest and dearest friends._

_I am truly sorry if this causes you more stress or results in more work than you already had, Halone knows you don’t need either. Goodbye, Aymeric. Even though I’ve known you only a few years, I want you to know that I viewed you as more of a friend than a Commander. But I’m almost certain that you get that a lot.  
  
Goodbye, Aymeric.  
  
Vallerin Chaunollet.”  
  
_There’s a sniffling sound, and Aymeric looks up quickly to see that Haurchefant is crying.  
  
“D- _Dishonor?_ ” There’s more pain in that one word than Aymeric thinks he’s ever heard in all his years, and it cuts him deep to his core. “Is that truly what it says? That he’s done something that would _dishonor_ his House, and mine own?”  
  
“That’s what it says, my friend. I’ve read you every word, as true as they were written here. I’ll be bold and assume that you know what this supposed dishonor is, and don’t share the same opinion on it as he does.”

Haurchefant laughs then, but it’s nothing like Aymeric is used to hearing. It’s bitter, and it’s cold. Aymeric feels he could go his entire life without hearing Haurchefant laugh like that ever again.  
  
“I kissed him.” It’s a simple statement, three words, but they leave Aymeric’s mouth hanging open nonetheless. “I kissed him, and by Halone I _swear_ he kissed me back, and we were _fine_ , and then I get this letter saying that he has to leave Ishgard, has to leave _me,_ and...I can’t. I can’t stay here, can’t stay in Dragonhead, not knowing where he is or if he’s safe, not knowing if it’s _my_ fault that he left.”  
  
“Don’t,” Aymeric begins, knowing full well where Haurchefant’s train of thought is headed, “don’t you dare say it, Haurchefant. I won’t hear it, and if you think I’ll give you my _blessing_ to just take off, abandon your post and your family to go find him, you’re sorely mistaken.”  
  
“Then don’t give your blessing. I’d never thought I would get it anyway, you know, and quite frankly? I was planning on going whether you gave it or not.”

“You love him.” It isn’t a question.  
  
“Am I truly so transparent?” Haurchefant, he knows, doesn’t expect an answer. He knows the younger man has been told his entire life that he wears his heart and emotions on his sleeve, and rather than see that as some sort of weakness, like everyone else did, Haurchefant made it his armor. It’s part of the reason why, Aymeric knows, the men that serve Haurchefant at Dragonhead are so loyal to him.  
  
Aymeric sighs, coming around the edge of his desk to directly in front of Haurchefant, leaning his weight back against it and looking down at the still seated man.

“I won’t say a word about you loving someone. You and I _both_ know I would never presume to judge someone or shun them for who they love. It isn’t something you’ve _chosen,_ I know that. But even if it was, I would still view you as a friend, Haurchefant. I want to make that very, very clear before I continue.”

“Before you crush me, you mean.” Aymeric huffs out a short laugh.  
  
“You know me well. I cannot allow you to leave Ishgard. Not now, not when...”  
  
_Not when Estinien has just stolen one of Nidhogg’s eyes and disappeared into the night to who knows where, not when the last exchange I had with the man was cryptic prophecies of doom from a voice he hears deep inside his own head.  
  
_“Not when the future is so uncertain,” is what he says. Haurchefant has more than enough he’s dealing with right now, he certainly doesn’t need Aymeric’s own fears and worries laid on top of them like a fresh blanket of snow.  
  
“I _said,_ that I didn’t care about your blessing, and that I was going regardless of whether you ga-”  
  
“And I said _no!_ ” Aymeric snaps, catching both Haurchefant and himself off guard. “Haurchefant, please, listen to yourself. You love a man that _ran away_ after you kissed him. That I can deal with, that I can understand, but...abandoning everything you know to chase after him? Your family, your position, everything you’ve worked so hard for to be more than a bastard-born boy, you want to throw it all away? I understand you’re upset my friend, but this? This I cannot, and will not allow. If you still presume to do it regardless, so be it. But know that I will do everything within my power to send men after you and drag you back here, to Ishgard, to Dragonhead, over and over until you understand.”

It’s not something that Aymeric would ever have allowed himself to say. It isn’t something Aymeric ever _wanted_ to have to say, especially to Haurchefant.

_You’re starting to sound like your father._

The voice in his head is as unforgiving and cruel as it is right, and that fact alone leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth.  
  
Haurchefant is not smiling. Haurchefant is not _anything_ , and it breaks Aymeric’s heart. Haurchefant’s mouth is set in a thin, tight line, the light that always plays in his eyes is gone, and when he speaks, it’s like hearing the voice of a dead man.  
  
“Understood, Lord Commander. May I be excused? My duties at Dragonhead are very pressing and very time consuming, a fact that I assure you I’m _thrilled_ to learn that you’re so keenly aware of.”  
  
If Haurchefant wasn’t Haurchefant, Aymeric doesn’t doubt the younger man would have tried to choke the life out of him.

“You may.”  
  
Haurchefant rises and strides to the door, and Aymeric thinks he might as well put one last nail into his own coffin, just for good measure.  
  
“And Haurchefant,” when the younger man turns to look at Aymeric, there’s contempt in his gaze. It reminds Aymeric of every single time he’s ever been under the gaze of his own father. “I trust that this will be the first and _last_ that I hear of you abandoning your post? Ishgard needs every man she can get, and I’d certainly hate to have to split her forces, as small as they are, to send half of them after you.”  
  
“Yes, Lord Commander.”  
  
“Very good. You’re excused, then.”

He waits until the door is shut before practically sprinting across the room to lock it behind Haurchefant, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over.  
  
He doesn’t want to sound like his father, doesn’t want to be or _become_ his father. It’s the last thing he’d ever want. But the fact that it was so easy for him to speak how he would speak, with a cold finality, has Aymeric nauseous and close to breaking.  
  
‘ _Ahh, Haurchefant. My dear, dear, Haurchefant...’_ he thinks, eyes raising to look at the window he always keeps unlocked and opened just a bit, just in case he gets a certain late night visitor, _‘if only I had your courage, if only I had your heart.’_  
  



	4. To Be Finished Would Be a Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 004: Clinch
> 
> Clinch (verb) - to hold fast or firmly

“Interesting burn scar you have there.”

The taller man jumps, slightly, his long-fingered hands clutching the towel around his waist as it threatens to fall, a flash of prominent hip bones the observer takes as a small personal victory.

“How did you...”  
  
“Get in your room? Come now, Val. I can get anywhere I want, an inn room in Gridania included.”

Val doesn’t answer him, choosing instead to narrow his eyes at him, their deep blue hue striking even in the low light of the room.  
  
“How’d you get it? The burn, I mean. It’s _terribly big,_ so I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind it.” He smirks from his place on top of the armoire, a laugh threatening to bubble it’s way out of him. He’s got his new friend exactly where he wants him, if the expression on Val’s face is anything to go by. The blue-eyed Elezen remains silent, knuckles going white as he grips the towel even tighter.  
  
“Could it be...dragonfire?”

“Thancred.”

“There’s a reward for you, you know? Put out by Lord Haurchefant Greystone himself. And it’s a fairly high amount of gil, now that I recall. So, tell me. What did you do? Why is Ishgard looking for you? Why does Haurchefant want you so badly, _Vallerin Chaunollet?_ ”

There’s a small, almost silent choking noise, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that Val is crying.  
  
“A...the actual idiot. I abandon him and he puts out a reward.”

Thancred hops off the armoire, crossing the room to where Val is so desperately trying to hide his emotions, and wraps his arms around the taller man, tightly. When he speaks again his voice is soft.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Thancred admits, looking anywhere he can but up at Val’s now tear-stained face, “I thought...well, honestly, I thought you some sort of criminal on the run from the Holy See. Scions could use the kind of funds Haurchefant is putting up for even a whisper of _information_ as to where you might be, and-”

“And you just wanted to help your friends. I understand, Thancred. I’m not mad at you. But, please, tell me, how did you figure me out? I’ve, at least I thought I had, taken great care in leaving who I used to be behind me.”

“The way you fight.” Thancred says, simply, like Val should have thought that would be the way. In truth, he’s surprised that Val _didn’t._ “A sword in your hand is not something new to you, and the way you draw back on a bow like it’s as natural to you as breathing. It was easy for me, someone who makes a habit out of observing people and learning everything he can about them as quickly as possible, to determine you weren’t some random adventurer off the streets. You’ve had _training,_ and plenty of it.”

A soft chuckle leaves Val then, and Thancred definitely knows he like _that_ a lot better than he did when the man was crying.  
  
“Well, there’s no arguing that. The Holy See doesn’t want green untrained boys facing the Horde, you know. Enough of the good, blooded, trained soldiers die every day, sending out someone untrained would have been blatant madness.”

Thancred nods, knowing his arms are still tightly wrapped around the Elezen, and also knowing that he plans on leaving them there until Val himself says to remove them.  
  
“As for...what you did? Why you left, and the reward?”  
  
“I fell in love.” It’s a simple statement, but Thancred feels it isn’t quite so simple after all. His suspicions are only confirmed when Val continues. “I fell in love with a _man,_ a man in a very prominent position in Ishgard. He didn’t send me away, though, please don’t understand. He would never, I know that. I sent myself away, rather than disgrace him and my family.”

“And this man?” Thancred knows, of course he knows, but he wants to hear Val confirm it on his own.  
  
“Haurchefant. He kissed me, I kissed him back, and two nights later I was sneaking across the Steps and out of Ishgard like some common criminal. That’s why the reward, I think. Either he wants to berate me and turn me in for desertion, which I highly doubt, or he just wants me back in Ishgard so he can kiss me again.”  
  
Thancred’s arms tighten around him.  
  
“Well. If it makes you feel any better...I don’t think any differently of you. For kissing a man, I mean, or even wanting to kiss a man. The amount of times that Urianger and I ha—nevermind.”

Val’s blue eyes light up, playful, and a grin forms on his angled features.  
  
“The amount of times that you and _Urianger_ have…? Is it more than kissing? Did he leave the robe on? I think if you told me that he left the robe on, I’d die right here.”

“We have kissed both with and without the robe, thank you _very_ much, as well as other things where the robe wasn’t even allowed in the same room, if you must know!”  
  
Val pitches his voice, then, in what can only be described as the worst Urianger imitation he’s ever heard, and Thancred, Twelve save him, has heard _many._

“Oh, Master Thancred, pray allow me to leave my robe on during our copulation, I could scarce handle you seeing my true visage. No no, leave the light off, Thancred, and your eyes closed, for I may literally combust if thine eyes were to behold me!”  
  
Thancred makes a face that can only be described as disgust, taking his arms away from Val’s body.

“I’m leaving.”  
  
“Oh come on,” Val is _giggling_ now, Twelve preserve, actually _giggling_ “surely it wasn’t all that bad. Did I at least get how he speaks right? The man speaks the way an old sermon reads.”  
  
“Leaving! Goodnight, Val!”

  
  
\---------------

“Pray forgive my lateness!”

He’s sprinting, legs carrying him across dry cracked earth, his thoughts racing almost as fast as he is.  
  
_Please let him be okay, please let him be safe. Oh Gods, oh Hydaelyn, if he’s hurt, if he’s burnt, or worse, it’s my fault. All my fault, I’m the one that sent him on this godsdamned mission. Please, if any of the Twelve still remember me, let him be alright. Ifrit can have Thanalan, can have the whole damn world, I don’t care, but it cannot have him._

Blue eyes, a soft, almost shy smile, long arms, long legs, and a bow on his back.  
  
_Vallerin._

“Take the injured, and the offenders, and get them out of here.” He orders, the men following him only nodding as they split off to do as they were told. “I need to check on my friend. Quickly.”  
  
Vallerin smiles as he approaches, raising one long arm in a wave.  
  
“Thancred! I think I’ll forgive it, but just this once.”

He’s okay. He’s okay and he’s smiling and he’s _safe_ and thank Whoever decided to listen to his prayers today, because Thancred doesn’t think he could handle losing him. A quick glance over his shoulder to confirm they’re alone, truly alone, and then Thancred does the only thing he knows to do.

He barrels into Vallerin, sending them both down to the dry ground, fighting the tears that threaten to come.  
  
“I. Gods above, I thought I’d sent you to your death. I thought...”  
  
“I’m _okay_ , Thancred.” Val’s voice is soft, his long fingers are in Thancred’s hair, combing through them in a gesture of comfort. It works.  
  
“Are you sure? You aren’t hurt, or tempered, or...”  
  
“Couple scratches, maybe a burn or two, but nothing I can’t handle. I’m here, all in one piece, I promise.”

It’s all too much for him, the fear of losing Vallerin, the fingers in his hair, the body against his own, even on the hard-packed ground. He remembers the inn room, remembers Vallerin crying, towel around his waist, toned body on display in a moment of stolen privacy. Remembers how Vallerin allowed him to hold him as they talked, hold him until Thancred left.

So he does the only thing he knows to do in that moment.

He kisses Val.


	5. Judge a Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 005: Matter of fact.
> 
> matter of fact (noun) - something that belongs to the sphere of fact as distinct from opinion or conjecture.

He’s going to tell him.

Hydaelyn knows he wants to, _needs to_ , the words ‘The kiss after you defeated Ifrit wasn’t some spur of the moment thing’ have come to his lips more times than he can count, but…

No matter how many times he tries, he can’t seem to get himself to give voice to his thoughts.

\--------

There’s something about him, Thancred thinks, that makes him downright irresistible. One of the most obvious things contributing to that, unsurprisingly, is the fact that the man has no idea that he’s desirable, let alone that he’s begun to occupy much more of Thancred’s thoughts than the rogue thought possible.

Even _before_ the possession.

It’s Moonfire Faire season, and Thancred Waters has somehow, blessedly, shaken the Scion shadow he’s become accustomed to having, all of them worried that somehow he’ll slip back and the Ascian will rear his head again, all of them keeping at least one set of eyes on him at all times.

_Babysitting, is what it is, and you know full and damn well that’s the truth._

He did, of course he did, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Thancred sighs as he looks out toward the sea, the sounds of laughter and drunken merriment far behind him now, his aching ears and head thanking him with every step he took. It’s probably the alcohol coursing through Thancred’s own veins that makes him wonder where Vallerin has hidden himself away. Probably. He _wouldn’t_ be wondering where the man was if he wasn’t drinking.

_Keep telling yourself that, Thancred. Tell yourself enough times and maybe you’ll believe it._

It’s then he sees him, off by himself on a tiny patch of land the locals refer to as the Isle of Endless Summer. It isn’t too far from the mainland, he thinks, he could easily swim there, sit and watch the fireworks with him…But that would be foolish, too far and too bold a step even for Thancred.

“Well, hello there.” Val’s voice is soft when Thancred sits beside him, ignoring the raucous laughter of his inner self.

“You didn’t strike me as a sit alone and watch the fireworks kind of person.”  
  
“I’m not, not really. But, I’m also not a _summer_ person, if truth be told. Ishgard doesn’t exactly have warm weather, you know? No warm weather, and not much to celebrate. So this is all new to me. It’s...not terrible.”

Thancred smirks, a small laugh huffing out of him.

“Not terrible, huh? Just go ahead and say you like it, Vallerin.”

That smile. The smile he doesn’t do very often, the real one, showing his pretty, straight teeth.

 _Waxing poetic about teeth now, are you? Pathetic.  
  
_“Alright, alright. You caught me, Halone be damned. I like it.”

Thancred scoots closer to him. Vallerin either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, but Thancred will take what he can get. Vallerin has decided to wear customary Faire attire, bare chest exposed to the night, a pareo draped around his waist. If he believed, truly believed, in miracles, Thancred would thank each member of the Twelve one right after another for Vallerin’s choices.

“I notice you’re without an escort tonight.” Vallerin says. He’s noticed, then. Of course he has, those blue eyes are constantly observing, constantly drinking the world in every second.

“Blessedly so. They tried, of course they did, but I very quickly, and very snappily informed them that _you_ would be here tonight, so I assume they expect _you_ to take care of me.”

Furrowed brows, a down-turned mouth.

“You didn’t fucking _ask_ for him to take you.”

It’s the first time he’s heard Vallerin speak about what the other Scions have come to refer to as The Incident, and it’s also the first time Thancred has ever heard the Elezen use the word ‘fuck’. It’s more endearing than it should be.

“They act like you stood there, looked him in the face, and said, yeah, actually, Lahabrea, I _would_ love for you to possess me and try to kill my friends. That would be exactly what I want to kick off this lovely Tuesday morning.”  
  
“It was a Wednesday, actually.”

Vallerin’s expression softens, turning his head to finally look, really look, at Thancred.

“S-Sorry. It just...it makes me so damned _angry_ to see them treat you the way they do,” Vallerin lets out a soft sigh, “like some sort of child.”

“After all the years I’ve known Urianger? I’m quite used to it.”

“Where is he?” Vallerin’s voice is soft, guarded.  
  
“Waking Sands, busy being terribly anxious. Most like will be for a while. He came into my room two nights ago, trying to kiss me. I’m all for unhealthy coping mechanisms, but...he’s better than that. Better than me.”

Vallerin bites at his bottom lip, awkwardly tucking some of his pitch black hair behind his ear.

_Here it comes, idiot. You knew you couldn’t avoid it for long._

“Ab-About kissing, actually...”  
  
_By all the gods he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he stutters when he’s nervous. Twelve save me._

“Yes, I suppose it _is_ overdue. The conversation, anyways.”

“Was it you? Thancred, just. Be honest. Was it you who kissed me, after Ifrit? Or was it him? Was it you, or some stranger wearing your face?”

Thancred scoots across the sand until he’s sitting directly in front of Vallerin, the Elezen spreading his long legs to accommodate the Hyurian’s smaller size. Thancred scoots as close as Vallerin will let him, taking the Warrior of Light’s hands in his own.  
  
“It was me, Val. That…that was before. Before. That kiss, the softness of it, the gentleness of it, was me. I promise you.”

An exhale of a breath Vallerin probably didn’t even realize he’d been holding, blue eyes looking down at the sand before they’re on Thancred’s lips, his eyes.  
  
“Good.” The Elezen says. “Good.”

“Were you frightened?”

“I’ve not really had the best luck with men, all things considered, so...a bit, yeah. Maybe more than a bit.”

Thancred’s thumb on the back of Vallerin’s hand, rubbing small, reassuring circles against the surprisingly soft skin there.

“It’s me, now, too, you know? It’s only me in here. The others don’t seem to think so, but, it is.” Vallerin nods, taking another deep breath and exhaling it slow.

He’s being lifted gently off the sand before he realizes, his new position in Vallerin’s lap allowing him to look _down_ at the Elezen, something he’d not had the chance to do with only himself in his head since Ifrit.

Arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

_Vallerin is holding you in his lap and you’re wrapped around him like a young koala. This is fine. Hells, it’s more than fine. You’re in another man’s lap, on the sand, with fireworks going off in the background. Thancred, wake up. You’re dreaming again._

“Swear it. Swear to me it’s just you in there, before I...”

“I swear it, Vallerin. Since the Praetorium, I couldn’t tell you where he went, but he’s certainly not inside _me_ any longer.”

Vallerin’s eyes glancing down at his lips again. Thancred is leaning in before he can stop himself.

The fireworks go off as their lips meet, and Thancred doesn’t think he’s ever had a better second kiss in all his days.

When Vallerin pulls away from him, it isn’t far. He’s still looking at Thancred, the position allowing the Hyur to rest his forehead against Vallerin’s own with a smile that he _knows_ a few months ago if he’d seen it on anyone else, he would have called them a lovestruck fool.

But that’s not what this is. Of course not. It isn’t _love._

“Stay with me, tonight?” Vallerin asks, and Thancred’s eyes widen. “I’m not going to ask you to _fuck_ me, Thancred. Just...some more kisses, would be lovely. There’s something I need to tell the Scions, and I’d love your opinion on how to go about doing so. Between kisses, of course.” 

Thancred nods, and Vallerin holds him close against his chest. There’s a familiar _woosh_ ing in his ears,

 _Gods he’s strong. He’s teleporting both you_ and _himself like it’s nothing for him. It probably isn’t, come to think of it…_

\--------

Vallerin’s Gridanian inn room is the same as it always has been, except now it’s a lot more lived-in. Thancred realizes with a sudden sadness that this room is all Vallerin has in Eorzea, the only thing that could be remotely described as _home_ for him.

“Val--”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, stopping the process of dressing for bed, “I know what you’re going to say, I can tell by the way your eyes dulled. I’m _fine_.”

The tone says don’t argue. So Thancred doesn’t. He just borrows one of Vallerin’s sleep shirts, the height difference between the two of them allowing it to cover enough that he doesn’t need to attempt to borrow _pants_ from the Elezen, too.

_Yeah, that would have been perfect. He sees you as kissable, until you have to roll up the legs of your pajamas because you’re small compared to him._

“Lay with me, Thancred Waters.” Vallerin’s voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard it.

Thancred thinks he could listen to Vallerin sounding like that forever.

\--------

Roughly sixteen kisses later, Thancred notices Vallerin’s hands are shaking as they hold onto his biceps.

“Vallerin? Val? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

There’s panic in the blue eyes as they look at him, a fear Thancred has never seen in Vallerin, one he never wants to see again.

“The. The roar. The roar we all heard when we were celebrating, after getting you back.”  
  
“Yes, I remember. The roar of some distantly summoned primal, remember? We’re waiting for it to rear it’s ugly head, or at least that’s what Urianger sai--”  
  
“It’s _not_ a fucking primal, Thancred. It’s not a fucking primal and I don’t. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect us, to save us, this time.”  
  
“Vallerin. Vallerin, sweet Vallerin, of course you’re strong enou--”

“ _NO!_ ” Tears brim on the edges of Vallerin’s eyes, and the Elezen’s fear is beginning to seep into Thancred’s own soul.

“You know what it is. Don’t you? You know it isn’t a primal, and you’re terrified. What _is_ it, then? Surely it’s not...oh. Oh, no. Vallerin, _Gods above, no._ ”

“Dragon.” He confirms.

That’s all it takes. One word is enough to chill Thancred to the bone.

“D-Dragon?”

“Dragon,” Vallerin confirms, “and I know exactly which one.”


	6. You and Me, Just Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 06: Whatever prompt you want/Makeup day
> 
> Pierce (verb) - (of a sharp pointed object) go into or through (something).

He’s reading, or trying to, at least, when Vallerin starts poking his earlobes. Which is fine, really, it’s actually amusing at first.

Until it starts to tickle.

“Twelve preserve, Vallerin, what are you _doing?_ ” Thancred asks, carefully marking his place and closing his book, turning his head to look at the other man, who is wearing a grin, blue eyes alight with something Thancred can’t exactly place.

“Your ears are pierced.”

It’s a simple statement, and Thancred isn’t sure why the small fact amuses Vallerin as much as it does.

“I….do, yes. Although, I don’t wear much in the way of jewelry these days. Is that funny to you? The way you’re smiling it looks like you’re about to burst into laughter.”  
  
“Do mine.”  
  
It’s all he says, and it isn’t exactly a request. Already Vallerin is doing his best to tuck his black hair behind his ears, carefully removing the black clasps he keeps on them. The younger man is almost _bouncing_ in his excitement, and Thancred has to clench his fists to keep from grabbing the Elezen and kissing him.

“Val...” The alias has started to become more of an endearment, as their time together stretched on.

“What? It’s gonna hurt? I’m the fucking _Warrior of Light,_ Thancred. I think if anyone can handle it, it’d be me.”

It’s the truth, and Thancred knows it is, but that doesn’t make him feel any better about it, especially since _he’d_ be the one causing Vallerin the pain.  
  
“You aren’t going to let me say no, are you? I swear sometimes you’re as stubborn a-”  
  
“If the words ‘as Y’shtola’ come out of your mouth, I am never kissing you again.” Thancred clamps his mouth shut. But moments later, it’s open again, heaving a world-weary sigh as he looks at the Elezen, who is still quite visibly excited.

“Alright, _alright_ , Vallerin. Calm down before you hop out of your skin. I’ll pierce your ears.”

\----------------

“D-Does it look good?”

 _Good? It looks better than good, it looks divine,_ you _look divine, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Val, and by all the Gods I just want to take you an-_

“Thancred? You there?”

“Ye-yes, Val. They look good, they suit you.”

Thancred’s hands reach out, rough fingers delicately tracing the shell of the Elezen’s ear, eyes focused on the dangling black earrings now coming from the lobes. This is fine, he thinks, this is enough. Small, gentle touches in secret, lips meeting in dark corners far away from the rest of the realm. It’s more his style, anyway, he reasons. Thancred had always preferred to keep to the shadows instead of standing proudly in the square. Why should that principle not carry over to his lover?

He’s content to continue thinking that way, until Vallerin shudders at the touch.

_Oh._

He knew Elezen ears were sensitive, of course he did, especially after the many, many times he’d reduced Urianger to what could only be described as a mess, but this? This was new. This was…

“You’re a virgin.”   
  
Vallerin’s eyes widen, face flushing red in embarrassment or shame, Thancred isn’t sure which.

“Not that it’s a bad thing!” He continues quickly, hands rising up in front of him, in an _I surrender, please don’t kill me_ gesture. “I...I was just observing. Didn’t mean to speak, in truth.”

“And if I am?”

“Then it changes nothing, but explains everything.”

Vallerin nods, teeth sinking into his own lower lip.   
  
“Do it again? My...my ear, I mean.”

Thancred does.

And this time, when Vallerin lets out a soft sigh to go along with his shuddering, Thancred leans in and kisses him, fingers still gentle, drinking in every noise Vallerin blesses him with.


	7. Otherwise Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> non·a·ge·nar·i·an
> 
> noun  
> noun: nonagenarian; plural noun: nonagenarians  
> a person who is from 90 to 99 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such trouble with this

He disappears a lot, these days.

Be it to perch dangerously on a fragment of a crystal, long legs dangling off the side as he stares off in the general direction of Foundation, or on the tops of the buildings in Mor Dhona, Vallerin Chaunollet is a hard man to find these days.

But who could blame him?  
  
He’d ran, after all, away from Ishgard. Away from a war that was never really _his_ to begin with, away from a man that now, with the time away, Vallerin realizes that he’d never had been able to share a future with anyway.

Because none of them had a future. None of them ever would. The Horde would win, and Ishgard would burn. More often than not, these days, he wonders if that would really be so bad.

A visitor, Thancred had said. A visitor from Ishgard, come to talk to the Warrior of Light about the roar, about the doom threatening to swallow them all whole, the monster from the skies who would only want death, and fire.

Vallerin’s not been able to sleep since he was told, kept up at night, endlessly tossing and turning trying to determine just _who_ Aymeric would send. He’d want to come himself, of course, Aymeric never did care much for others carrying his messages for him, but with the roar…

It wouldn’t be Haurchefant. That was certain. If the only thing to come out of Dragonhead was a reward for information concerning him, then his old friend had certainly been forbidden to leave.

He’d seen Estinien leave, hadn’t he? The same night he had, leaping off the towers of Ishgard to who knows where.   
  
That left only one option, one terrifying, intimidating option.

\-------------

He takes a deep breath, trying to force his hands to steady, as he opens the door to the solar.  
  
“It was the Lord Commander’s desire to come himself, of course, but with things being how they are, he couldn’t just up and le- _you!”  
  
_ There it is.

She crosses the room then, raising a gauntlet-covered fist, and he closes his eyes, turning his head.

It connects with his jaw, and he spits blood.

Thancred moves first, almost taking Lucia to the ground with the force his body collides with hers, a wordless yell leaving the Hyur’s lips.   
  
“It’s alright, Thancred!” Vallerin yells, stepping forward to help Lucia, and a glare from her stops him short, hands he didn’t realize he’d raised falling limp to his sides.

“Do _not_ touch me!” She almost snarls at him, and Vallerin nods. “He’s...and Aymeric! You...you _monster_. Why the Warrior of Light chooses to keep company with you, I’ll never know. Surely they don’t know who you really are, what you do to the people who care for you.”

It’d be funny, if it wasn’t so damn sad.

“Actually, my lady...” Y’shtola begins, but a cold voice interrupts her.

“He _is_ the fucking Warrior of Light. The man you just _hit._ ”

Thancred’s voice, and it’s furious in it’s emptiness.

Lucia freezes, her arm still up in the air, looking as if she was preparing to draw back for another shot at Vallerin’s jaw. Or maybe his nose this time, that was the thing about Lucia. You never knew _where_ she was aiming for until she struck you.

“He...he isn’t. You _aren’t._ ” Vallerin nods, not trusting his voice not to break.

Lucia bursts into tears.

\-------------

“Is that why you left?” She asks him later, after the sun has set and everyone but the two of them and Thancred have gone to bed. Thancred is close, as usual, and if Lucia has noticed, she doesn’t say it, allowing the man to keep to the shadows, where he’s comfortable.

“No,” Vallerin says, looking at his hands in his lap. The polish on his nails is flaking, he’ll have to re-do them before he goes to his death tomorrow. “I only learned after, a bit after I left.”

Lucia is silent for a moment, before sighing and taking Vallerin’s hands carefully.

“You’ve been picking at them again, I see. What was it Haurchefant used to say? There was a star in the sky for every time someone caught you picking at your nails?”

“Nervous habit.” He smiles in spite of himself. “I...I miss him, Lucia. Please don’t think I do. How...how does he fare?”

“Gods, it’s been, what, a year? Or thereabout, close enough it makes no matter. He’s okay, I’d like to believe. More withdrawn than before, quieter. I believe he’s, to use Ser Estinien’s own phrase, _pulled an Aymeric._ ”

Vallerin nods, finally allowing himself to look up again, out towards the direction of Ishgard. If he squints, he can almost trick himself into believing he can see the spires of his home.

“Forcing himself to overwork so he doesn’t have to deal with how he feels. Pulled an Aymeric, indeed.”

“Why...forgive me, and tell me if I’m going too far with this, but...why did you leave, anyway?”

“I refused to rob Haurchefant of the ability to grow old with someone.”

It’s out before he realizes, a truth he didn’t even realize he had until it was out, staring them both in the face.

“Vallerin...”

“I know, I know. Halone be good, I do. But, Lucia, even you have to realize. Not only a man, but one that _serves_ your House? I couldn’t do that to him, to Lord Edmont. Not when they’ve both been so good to me over the years.”

“And so, rather than tell Haurchefant this...rather than admit you felt the same way, and take what comes, you...”

“Ran. Like a coward. Haurchefant, and you cannot disagree, no matter how deeply you dig, deserves happiness. Deserves _love_. He wouldn’t have gotten that from me. He would have been shamed, and we both know it. I _refuse_ to be the reason all that he’s worked for gets snatched away from him.”

“The both of you could have left,” Lucia reasons, her gaze following his own, more than likely feeling almost as awkward outside of those big stone walls as he did, before Eorzea, “you both could have left, found a place in Gridania. Settled down.”

“We could have. But Haurchefant would never have abandoned Ishgard, not like I did. Loves the place, for whatever reason.”

“Fair enough, but...” She trails off, her hands still clutching his own, “I think he would have. For you.”

“Don’t, please.” He looks at her, then. Really looks at her, at the shape of her eyes, at the long hair she uses to cover her darkest secret. “Don’t tell me I would have had a chance, a chance to love him, to grow old with him.”   
  
“I won’t lie to you, Vallerin. You know that. I never have. You ran, before giving him the option to even consider it.”

Vallerin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I...I’d rather him deal with me leaving, deal with me running, than deal with loving me, me being by his side, and then watching me get ripped away from him by Midgardsormr. Or torn apart by something else, the next thing that comes after me just because of a blessing I never asked for.”

“You’ll find a man, Vallerin. Whether it’s Haurchefant or not, someone will come along, see the dangers that come with loving you, and decide that love is...enough.”

Vallerin laughs, softly, resting his head on her shoulder, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

“You sound like Aymeric. That’s almost a carbon copy of what he says to Estinien, you know? After he’s been at the bottom of too many tankards and in the back of too many brothels.”

She smiles, then, stroking his hair like she used to do when he was a young Temple Knight, late at night on sentry duty when it was just the two of them, and he’d tell her about all his fears.

“Maybe those two will realize _they’re_ meant to grow old together, too. Eventually.”

Eventually.


	8. Two as One

Estinien doesn’t think he can get back to Ishgard fast enough.

Aymeric will know what to do, Aymeric always knows what to do, and this time will be no different, this time Aymeric will have a plan, and Aymeric will fix it, and Aymeric will help, and…

_Keep telling yourself that, mortal._

The voice again, always the damned voice.

“I don’t recall asking for _your_ input, wyrm.”

_And yet you have it._

So he sighs, curls up on the snow, and tries his best to fall asleep to the sound of Nidhogg’s never-ceasing laughter.

\--------------

Part of being the Azure Dragoon of Ishgard means you’re never alone, even when you are.

Part of being the Azure Dragoon of Ishgard means you’re always hungry, even when you’ve just eaten. It means there’s a fire behind your temper, a fire that isn’t your own, and the flames threaten to consume you every time you so much as get annoyed.

Which, if you’re Estinien Wyrmblood, happens quite a lot.

There’s also the desires and urges that don’t stem from _you,_ not exactly, but over the centuries, you’ve heard countless horror stories about men in your same position succumbing to them.

It’s why, if you’re Estinien Wyrmblood, you don’t get closer to Aymeric de Borel than is absolutely necessary.

You _want to,_ of course. Why wouldn’t you? Anyone within thirty feet of Aymeric wants to get closer to him, but…

_I’ll make you rip him apart as you claim him. Know this to be true, mortal. Know I will take everything from you, sooner or later, and there is nothing you can do to stop it._

He knows. That’s partly why he ran.

\--------------

Contrary to popular belief, Aymeric de Borel is _not_ a virgin.

It would appear that way, the almost childishly bright blue eyes, the pouty lips that always seem to be at least half-smiling, his polite yet reserved way of talking.

But Estinien knows better, knows the absolutely _filthy_ things that can, and will, come spilling out from between those lips if you bite his ear in just the right spot.

_You love him._

The wyrm is not asking, the wrym never asks. He doesn’t have to. He’s part of Estinien, after all, deeply ingrained into him, into his very heart and soul.

Estinien knows that Nidhogg, without a doubt, knows Estinien’s own heart better than the Elezen himself does. It only half frightens him.

\--------------

The roar comes from _inside him_ before he hears it, inside his head, almost splitting it in two with it’s ferocity, it’s volume.

 _The time has come,_ it says, _take wing, and join the chorus._

Estinien begins to run.

\--------------

Borel Manor is, blessedly, still standing when he reaches it.

Ishgard is, too, of course, but Borel Manor, _that_ was the most important part, to Estinien.

_Go ahead, mortal. Disgusting, pitiful mortal, see him one last time before I and mine come to burn everything you love to less than ashes._

Estinien grits his teeth together to keep from screaming, and jumps.

\--------------

“Mm? Estinien?”

He was sleeping.

For once in his life, Aymeric de Borel was _sleeping,_ and Estinien woke him.

“Yeah, ‘meric. It’s me, just. Go back to sleep, alright? We can talk in the morning.”

The laughter again, from inside his head, low and mocking.

“We absolutely can _not_ talk in the morning. Where in the hells have you been, Estinien? It’s been a year since you were inside the walls of Ishgard, and you take off with the Eye no less! Do you have any idea how hard that was to cover up?”

“You covered it up?”

“Of _course_ I did. You think I want my father coming after you, declaring you a criminal, an enemy of Ishgard. You know as well as I do how the Temple Knights are trained, and that’s not who he would have sent after you.”

Estinien knows, and the thought of having to see a single member of the Heaven’s Ward for more than five minutes at a time is enough to make him shudder.

_Fear._

“It isn’t _fear_ , you damnable wyrm! It’s _disgust!_ ”

Aymeric’s voice, soft, concerned.

“….Estinien? My friend, are you alright?”

He wanted to talk now? Then they’d talk.

“It isn’t Midgardsormr.” He stares directly into Aymeric’s eyes, then, steel meeting sky. “It’s Nidhogg. Nidhogg calls for the Horde to take flight and burn Ishgard.”

The laughter again, sending him to his knees with how loud and deranged it is.

The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Aymeric’s face.

\--------------

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is Aymeric’s face.

His eyes are closed, breathing slow and even. Asleep again, it would seem, wrapped around Estinien as he does so like if he doesn’t hold him down, Estinien might run again.

He’s probably right.

Estinien allows himself this, one small moment of weakness, trailing his fingers across the thin flesh of Aymeric’s closed eyelids, allows himself to trace the absurdly long eyelashes women had always envied of him.

_Love._

Estinien doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to.

_I will kill him last, then. Slowly. He will die screaming as you watch._

So he sighs, curls up in Aymeric’s featherbed, and tries his best to fall asleep to the sound of Nidhogg’s never-ceasing laughter.


	9. I Need Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Avail (verb) - to be of use or advantage (serve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed a day. Hah.

Vallerin likes G’raha Tia.

He likes the way his eyes light up when he figures out something new, or discovers something about Allag that didn’t come from his books.

It had been a chance meeting, one of Vallerin’s friends that he’d met while adventuring finding him in Gridania and practically begging him to tag along to the Crystal Tower, something about ‘we might need your bow’ being enough to convince the Elezen to help.

He had, after all, been trying for days to figure out a way to put off his inevitable meeting with the Keeper of the Lake, a way to put off his own absolute demise.

So he goes, not thinking about it really, just another group of adventurers helping another group of people with something. Simple, really, no cause for alarm.

Until there is.

Vallerin doesn’t know why his head hurts the closer he gets to the Crystal Tower, he just knows that it _does,_ a dull ache that no matter what he tries, he can’t seem to shake.

\------------

The first thing that can only be described as _odd,_ headache totally aside, is the correction.

Two of his companions had been arguing about where to go for quite some time, and instead of calmly leaning against something, arms crossed over his chest, waiting on them to finish, he strode forward, between the two arguing adventurers, and…

“Actually, it’s _this_ way.”

Their eyes follow him as he continues to walk, even as panic bubbles up inside him like a hot spring.   
  
_What if you’re wrong?_

He isn’t. Part of him, the calmer part of him, knows he isn’t.  
  
 _But how do you know you’re not?_  
  
That...that he cannot answer.

\------------

It happens again, a week or so later, when he’s lounging around outside G’raha Tia’s tent, idly tightening his bowstring. G’raha is perched on a rock, not far away from him, and he’s been endlessly chatting about the mysteries of Allag for at _least_ two hours now, when something he says has Vallerin looking up.

“That isn’t right.”

“Beg pardon? I will have you know I am one of the foremost scholars on Allag, and-”

“And you’re _wrong,_ G’raha.”

It offends him, Vallerin can tell in the way his posture changes, the pout of his lips.

“Then, pray tell, what _was_ that particular room used for, since you’re so _educated_ on the subject.”

Vallerin knows if G’raha could claw his eyes out, he would.

“Dancing.”

The laugh escapes G’raha before he realizes, but when he does, he at least has the grace to cover his mouth and apologize for it.

“I...I didn’t mean for that to come out. It wasn’t mocking, just surprise. I have such a difficult time believing that the brightest minds in the history of...well, everything, really, would have a room specifically set aside for _dancing._ ”

“And yet, they did.”

 _We did,_ the voice inside him says firmly, _we did, we did, we did._

\------------

The ballroom makes it into G’raha’s notes.

Vallerin knows this because now he’s been forced to stand guard over the man while he _sketches_ the room into one of his many, many journals.

He likes to talk while he works, G’raha Tia, idly chattering away, more to himself than to Vallerin, doing his best to get every small detail of the room down _just so_ in his book.

“Fantastic,” he’s muttering, obsessed with every detail, every facet of crystal, “simply amazing...”

Vallerin, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, is busy trying to force himself to not hum a song he doesn’t fully remember, a song that has played in his head since stepping foot into the room.

\------------

When G’raha goes to sleep, Vallerin loses it.

He’s a whirlwind of emotion and pain, beating his fists upon the ornate doors, screaming words in a language he doesn’t know, and yet does, begging for those doors to open again.

“Let him out,” he’s saying, screaming, tears spilling down his face, “let him _out_ , he doesn’t need to be in there, he doesn’t _deserve_ to be in there. There’s no reason to keep him locked away!”

Someone, he isn’t sure who, has to cast Repose, of all things, on him. Someone, he isn’t sure who, has to carry his sleeping body away from the tower.

\------------

When he wakes, it’s back in his Gridanian Inn room, and there’s a note on his desk. It’s from Cid, and his stomach drops to his feet as he reads it.

_I understand you’re upset about G’raha’s choice. We all are, but...Vallerin, my boy, you’re a symbol of hope for people, and...we can’t have the symbol of hope beating his fists against the doors of a tower and screaming for it to give his friend back. It sets a certain...tone._

_By the way, when did you learn to speak Ancient Allagan?_


	10. Tonight You Belong to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 11: Ultracrepidarian
> 
> expressing opinions on matters outside the scope of one's knowledge or expertise.

Vallerin is asleep. 

He knows this, for certain, because he’s _dancing,_ and knows for a fact that he has not danced since he left Ishgard. He knows this, for certain, because the man he’s dancing with is a stranger to him.   
_  
“Something on your mind, darling?”_ the man asks, genuine concern in those golden eyes. Golden eyes than Vallerin, in some way, knows. 

But he doesn’t. 

_“No,”_ he replies, in a voice he doesn’t recognize, in a language he has never heard, _“I believe, if I’m to be honest, I’m tired. Council really seemed to drag today, and I’m positive you know why, even though you somehow managed to conveniently not have to be there.”  
_

A laugh, playful and teasing. A laugh that sets the heart that is not his racing, a fact that the golden-eyed man somehow knows.   
_  
“Well, my love. As entrancing as you look, and as much as I do so love dancing with you like this, don’t allow me to keep you overlong. Let’s go home, shall we?”_

A gloved hand extended, and the him that is not him takes it gladly.   
  


_“Always a gentleman.”_

  
—————————————

When Vallerin wakes in his Gridanian inn room, he notices his face is wet with tears. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 009 (late tbh) - Lush

Aymeric is nervous.

Estinien knows this because Aymeric is slightly drunk, slurring his words as they wait in the intercessory at Camp Dragonhead. Waiting for the Warrior of Light and his companion. Waiting for, if the rumors are true, (and Estinien prays that they are not) Vallerin Chaunollet.

It’s understandable that Aymeric is nervous, he thinks, considering that this is the first time Vallerin and Haurchefant will have been in the same room as one another since Vallerin left Ishgard in the middle of the night, a fact Estinien himself had only learned fairly recently.

So, that afternoon, when Estinien had arrived at Borel Manor to escort his friend to Camp Dragonhead to find that he’d already been in the single-malt, well, Estinien didn’t understand _why_ , exactly. Not really.

Not until he had entered Camp Dragonhead himself and seen the look on Haurchefant’s face.

“Haurchefant.” He said, trying to maintain at least _some_ sense of composure. It’d been a long day, between babysitting his half-drunk friend, and trying to calm another friend who had become, it seemed, anxiety personified.

“Estinien.” Haurchefant responded, voice without emotion except for one.

Fear.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. As long as we remember we’re here to do a – put that _down_ , Aymeric – a job, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“But what if it isn’t, Estinien,” Haurchefant begins, the panic seeping into his voice now, “what if nothing is fine, and it’s awkward and tense and - ”

The door to the intercessory opens, and a man and a young Elezen, surely no older than fifteen, walk in. The man is dressed in black, hood drawn and visor covering his eyes, and the Elezen, well…

Blue is _certainly_ their favorite color.

“Lord Haurchefant, it’s good to see you again.” The young Elezen speaks, bright blue eyes shining as he gives Haurchefant a clearly practiced polite smile. “How have you been?”  
  
“G-Great!” Haurchefant’s voice clearly cracks. “Ever…everything has been great.”

The hooded man says nothing, just smirks softly to himself.

There is _no way_ that this man is little Vallerin Chaunollet. Not the Vallerin Chaunollet _he_ knew through their days in the Temple Knights together. For starters, the Vallerin _he_ knew would never have dreamed of walking into the _intercessory_ , of all places, hooded and hiding most of his face.

“Good! I am glad to hear it. May I present my companion, the Warrior of Light?”   
  
The boy motions to the hooded man, who only lifts a hand in greeting as a response.

Estinien has had _enough._

“Alright, boy. Let me explain something to you, about Ishgard, since wherever you hail from _clearly_ hasn’t done you the service of educating you in any sort of way.”   
  
Aymeric’s blue eyes are wide, and bloodshot from the alcohol as he stares. The boy’s face, a perfect _mask_ of politeness that makes Estinien even angrier, does not falter for a moment. Haurchefant lets out a gasp before falling back into silence.

And the hooded man? The hooded man just smirks again, as if enjoying a private joke.

Estinien’s blood is boiling.

“You can’t come in here, with a hooded stranger, and expect us to believe that he’s the damn Warrior of Light. First of all, it’s _rude_ to remain hooded with your face covered when coming to a meeting, especially one where you _claim_ you’re here to offer help to someone, or to have help asked of you. Secondly, even if you _did_ know the Warrior of Light, how am I, or either of the two men sitting in this room with me, expected to believe that this man who won’t even deign to _grace us_ with his face is him? You can’t. Haurchefant, my friend, I truly am sorry, but I can’t entertain this any longer, and I won’t subject Aymeric to it, either. Come on, Aymeric. We’re leaving.”  
  
Estinien has Aymeric out of his chair before he hears the voice.

“Now, now, Estinien...”  
  
 _Oh shit. Oh._

The hood is down, and staring directly at his helm, directly where his eyes should be, is Vallerin Chaunollet.

Haurchefant lets out a sound that can only be described as a choked sob, Aymeric sways, clutching drunkenly onto Estinien for dear life, and Estinien? Estinien just stares, stares open-mouthed until Vallerin begins speaking again.

“Is that any way to treat an _old friend?_ ”


	12. Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go ape shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 (late) - Tooth and Nail

Dying, he realizes, isn’t so bad. The darkness, the cessation. Not so bad.

It’s the things that come _before_ death. That’s what’s so terrible.

It’s the chill of the ice as it falls down upon your head. It’s the flashes of pain as the ice soldiers beat down on your body with their large, unforgiving fists.

It’s the knowing that, with one single mistake, you’ve let everyone you’ve ever known and loved down.

\---------------

He’d fought death.

Of course he had. All he knew anymore was fighting. Go here, kill this. Go here, handle this. There was more fighting in his life _now_ than there had been _before_ , when he was a budding Temple Knight in service to Ishgard, defending his home from the Horde.

But now, he was a Warrior of Light. A hero.

At least, that’s what they told him.

He just had a hard time _believing_ them when he did.

\---------------

He supposes, in some way, he’d always been a tool. Something for people to use, only to put away and forget until they needed him again. It was what being a knight _was,_ after all, especially a knight in service to Ishgard.

Even when he’d had to leave the Temple Knights to serve Haurchefant and House Fortemps, that was what he had been. A tool, to be used whenever Lord Edmont or his sons felt like it.

It was just, with Haurchefant, he forgot that.

At least for a little while.

\---------------

Haurchefant.

While not in love with the man, certainly he never had been, and how fitting is it that he realizes it _now,_ after everything, after giving up his life for him, there was no denying there was a fondness there. But, he wouldn’t have called it love. Wasn’t lust, either, when he really got right down to it.

And what’s there to do when you’re laying there dying in some remote corner of the realm but get right down to it?

\---------------

_This is painful._

I know. I know that.

_No, I mean watching it. It’s damn near excruciating. It’s...pathetic, really._

That’s what Lahabrea told me, too.

_And what did you do to Lahabrea?_

I...we, I suppose...destroyed him.

_So what’s stopping you doing that this time?_

The bleeding hole in my chest may have something to do with it.

_Are you tired, Vallerin? Do you want all this to stop? A sense of finality? That’s why you’re really laying here, letting yourself die, isn’t it? Because you just don’t want to do this anymore._

Shut up.

_Warrior of Light. Blessed hero. Chosen._

Stop mocking me.

 _Savior! Protector! Not doing much saving and protecting now, are you? Laying there, allowing yourself to die. Alone, no less. After all the friends you’ve made? All the people you’ve saved? And yet, at your end, you choose to spend it alone. I wonder why that is. Is it because, at the end of it all, even after all you’ve said and done, you finally, finally realize that maybe you aren’t fucking_ worth -

I said, SHUT UP!

_It’ll do you no good to yell at me. You know that. And you know why, don’t you?_

Because you don’t exist. You’re just a voice in my head.

 _Exactly. And if you want_ help _from the voice in your head, why, you need only ask. Five words, Vallerin, that’s all it’ll take. And I’ll help you get up, and dust you off. As an added bonus, I’ll even make sure you get back to the Forgotten Knight in once piece. It’s one hell of a deal, if I do say so myself. And all it’ll take is five little words. What do you say?_

Haurchefant. Estinien. Aymeric. Alphinaud. Thancred. Y’shtola. Urianger.

Everybody.

_Go on, you’re almost there._

I’m sorry.

_That’s it._

I tried. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.

_Then let go._

I tire of this charade.


End file.
